The Moth
by Jesse Static
Summary: What happens to the idol after the fall? For Quistis Trepe, it means bottom of the barrel: dirty apartment and Seifer Almasy.


**Author's Notes**: After an unnecessarily long hiatus from 'fic writing, I've begun writing again. This is my first finished piece in… well, years. I don't have much to say about this piece in particular, really. I'm fairly confident that it speaks for itself. I had fun writing it and delving into the lesser-explored aspects of the relationship between Seifer and Quistis. Other than that, constructive criticism and honest opinions are wonderful. I'm begging for those, rather than the standard, "This was good, I liked it, blah, blah, blah" review… although, those are nice, too. 

I owe many, many thanks to the wonderfully amazing Carie Valentine, an extremely talented author and good friend of mine, for sitting up during the morning hours (even in exhaustion) with me on MSN encouraging me, helping me, and doing the beta reading. No words can truly describe how awesome she is.

* * *

The Moth

Quistis's eyes followed the path of a moth as it bounced off her lamp and on to her desk. It rolled around a few times before staggering into flight once more. It fluttered around spastically for a few moments, hitting walls and various picture frames. Finally, the moth flew into the wall once more and landed on a stack of books before struggling to get up once more. Losing its resolve, it fell off behind her desk and she shook her head. It was probably the moth's last moment. "Poor thing," she thought to herself.

The smell of smoke pulled her from her thoughts. "Put that out," she demanded. Her eyes were met with a defiant glare and a steady stream of smoke.

"What are you going to do about it, Instructor?" Seifer smirked as he took another drag. "It's not like I'm one of your students," he said as he exhaled again.

Sometimes, Quistis wondered why she even bothered. "You know I hate you smoking." She added as an after thought, "You're right. You aren't one of my students, so stop calling me Instructor."

She was met with a harsh laugh. "Here's the bitch of it… I don't hate my smoking."

"You're in my apartment."

"Our apartment," he corrected.

She pushed her chair away from the desk and stood up. "Start paying rent, then." He looked at her with nothing to say for once. With a triumphant grin, she pulled the cigarette out of his mouth and stubbed it out on the arm of the dingy couch.

"I wasn't finished with that," he shouted.

She laughed. "Yes you were." She tossed the butt into the trashcan and made her way into their bedroom.

Bickering like this was a nightly activity. She couldn't stand Seifer's mannerisms, or his attitude, or him in general for that matter. Maybe she was finally beginning to realize that he hadn't changed after all. Sure, he had a softer side that he had no problem showing, but his cruelty remained perfectly in tact. Even still, there remained something about him she found completely irresistible. Perhaps it was the fact that she had always found herself attracted to the ones she could never have, she sure as hell had a good history of that. Maybe she thought she would be the one to change his ways. There was no doubt that she had, to a certain extent. Their relationship, albeit a rather tumultuous and dysfunctional one, was by far much longer than either of them had ever endured. She had successfully broken his fuck-and-run habit.

After all of the things he had done and all of the pain he had caused, she wasn't really sure who would want to be with him, one night stand or not. In the public eye, he was the embodiment of evil. "They were probably drunk," she noted to herself.

She pulled her clothes off and left them laying on the floor where they fell. Digging in her drawer, she produced a new pair of panties and an oversized night shirt. Gratefully, she slipped into them and stretched. She was tired in every way possible – emotional, physical, and mental.

The curtains in the room were pulled back to let light flood in from the dreary nighttime Deling cityscape. Sighing, she closed pulled them shut. She sat on the edge of the bed, still messy and unmade from the night before, and dangled her legs off the edge.

Deling was a long way from Balamb, the only true home she ever knew. Sure, she spent a good portion of her earlier life in a place she barely remembered and at Galbadia Garden, but those places weren't home. Balamb Garden was home to her. There was however, very little she liked about it – teaching students who could care less , fighting for a living got redundant, the only decent food item was a hotdog, the dormitory rooms were shitty… but it had one thing that no other place had: her friends.

After the war, most of them left Garden for good. Squall, of course, stayed as the commander. Eventually, Cid retired and turned Garden over to him entirely. Rinoa lived at the Garden with him, working as his secretary for an excuse to stay. As if she needed one. Selphie and Irvine both relocated to Trabia to aid in the reconstruction efforts. Zell moved in with his mother, who became ill shortly after the war ended.

Quistis was the last to leave. It was hard to pry herself away from the entire life she had so carefully built there and from the memories she had struggled so hard to keep. After everyone else had left, though, it became hollow. Sure, Rinoa and Squall were still around, but they were inseparable. Most of the time, she felt more like a third wheel. The emptiness was overwhelming and was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. How she ultimately found herself here, in a rundown apartment building in Deling with Seifer Almasy, she still wasn't completely sure. She was completely sure, however, of how she found Seifer. The memories if the night they first met up with each other since the aftermath of the war were foggy, but they were there.

In a fit of self-pity, Quistis found herself at a bar in a shadier part of town. She had spent a majority of the night wallowing in her grief for her inability to rebuild her life. The thought of returning to Garden crossed her mind a time or two, but she shook them off quickly. She was determined to start again and become successful. She was, after all, Quistis Trepe, over-achiever extraordinaire.

Alcohol seemed like a good way to relieve her overly pensive mind, and she was right. After starting in on her third margarita, she was starting to forget why she was even upset. When she started in on her fourth, a familiar voice grabbed her attention.

"Well, well. Instructor?" She turned around and blinked dumbly. Shock set in shortly thereafter. "Never would have thought to find you in a place like this," Seifer smirked.

She couldn't believe her eyes, but it really was him. He didn't appear to have changed a bit, either. Even in the sweltering heat, he still wore his trench coat, and he still struck his "mightier-than-thou" Roman God pose.

The details that followed were the hardest to remember, to which she attributed the alcohol. Vaguely, she remembered the two of them stumbling through the doorway of her small apartment, mouths pressed messily together and hands tearing at each other's clothes. It was a shock the next morning to find him laying naked next to her.

Eventually, he "moved in" with her. Nothing was official between them, but the relationship was undeniable. Things were good at first. They didn't see each other much during the day – Quistis had taken a part time job at a restaurant, and who knew what Seifer did. By night, they found themselves ripping at each other's clothes and making noises their neighbors complained about frequently.

There wasn't much in the way of conversation at first, either. Aside from their routine exchange of moans, Quistis nagged Seifer for rent every once in a while and Seifer habitually told her she was a worthless slut. Conversation became more frequent and insulting when Quistis's hours at the restaurant were cut. For the most part, she tried to ignore the insults and enjoy the sex, but even that became impossible. "Oh baby," was replaced with, "Ah, you fucking whore." She tried to think things would get better, but they didn't. In a way, she almost enjoyed the abuse. She had no real desire to leave, and nowhere to go. Soon, "dumb bitch" and "fucking slut" became terms of endearment. She hated it, but it never got to her. Not much, at least.

Sighing, she swung her legs up on the bed and pulled the covers over herself. In an attempt to beckon sleep, she buried her head in her pillow and shut her eyes tightly. As always though, Seifer came before sleep. She didn't bother looking up; she knew his routine too well. He stripped his shirt and jeans off before flopping carelessly on to the bed.

He laid there in silence for a moment before turning over. "You're not asleep," he said.

She lay still, thinking, "No, but I'd sure as hell love to be."

"I know you're not." He slid his hand under the blanket and to her leg. "Stop fucking pretending."

She tensed as his hand moved up under her night shirt. Rolling over, she said, "Not tonight, Seifer."

He propped himself up on his elbow and leaned over her. "You know, you're getting boring."

"Shut up."

Undoubtedly, he was smirking. "You know it's true. Fuck," he laughed, "even the sex is getting bad." Quistis pulled the blanket over her head. It wouldn't block him out, but she could try. "You lost your job," he said as he sat up. She could hear him rustling for something on the table next to the bed and the click of a lighter as he lit another cigarette. He took a drag and paused. "All you do is sit around here all day and bitch at me," he continued.

She tried to block him out, tried desperately to ignore what she had become. It was true – her so-called successful new life had shriveled up into the ghost of a fantasy, but she would never admit it to herself.

"You don't mean that," she finally retorted in her own defense.

He laughed. "Of course I do. You're living in denial, Instructor. Own up to your own pathetic-ness. I sure as hell do."

"Well, I'm not you, now am I?"

"You're with me, aren't you?" It hurt. For the first time in a long time, his words hurt. For once, he wasn't spouting off insults… he was telling the truth. "I mean, damn. Look at you. Come to Deling to start a new life, and what do you get? A man hated by society, no job, and a lot of fucking terrible sex." Almost instantaneously, her resolve broke. Any shred of self esteem she had left dissipated, and she realized that she really had become the worthless slut that Seifer called her every day. She was the moth, banging against the wall in sporadic bursts of flight.

"You're gonna have one fucked up story to tell the kids, you know." Her chest heaved and she bit her lip to suppress the whimper that accompanied the tears forming in her eyes. "No, fuck that. You don't deserve to reproduce."

She was the moth, ricocheting off the wall. She tried to get her bearings straight, to get her wings working again to defend herself, make it stop, anything. The only thing that came was a sob, muffled by the mattress.

"You're a waste of flesh, and the biggest damned waste of my time." He was quiet for a moment more before finally laying back down and rolling over.

Quistis lay there. Her resolve had broken, and she was the moth, crawling off the side of the desk to die.


End file.
